Change is Inevitable
by LifeLongCynic
Summary: Brett Jensen is an ordinary teenager, that is until his grandfather's death and Brett discovers that he has a special ability. Now he is thrust into a world of power stealing serial murders, covert companies, and his own family's dark past. Rated T
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Kirby Plaza Building, New York, NY

The first thing Jefferson noticed was the blood. There was so much of it, pooled here, smeared there, it was as if he was standing in the aftermath of a civil war battle. The body of a white haired man lay in the middle of it all, the back of his head completely gone. A man in a dark suit was kneeling over the body writing things down in a small note pad

"What happened?" he asked the man. the man stood up, Jefferson didn't know his name so he decided to call the stranger simply "Notepad." He took a step back and turned around. He was tall, thin, salt and pepper hair and a face heavily wrinkled by both time and a hard life. His brown eyes met those of Jefferson,

"Linderman's dead." He replied calmly.

"I figured that much when you called me." Jefferson snapped back "I mean how did it happen."

"Hard to tell, I'd say brain trauma but I'm not entirely sure about that."

"Why not?" Jefferson asked looking at the head wound wondering what else it could possibly be."

"Because it's missing." The man said not even bothering to look at Jefferson.

"What is?" Jefferson looked around; everything seemed to be in place. The man pulled out a hip-flask, took a quick swallow and said

"His brain."

"Sylar." Jefferson said under his breath

Notepad took another swallow and said "Not quite, according to our Intel he was down in the plaza when your guy was killed."

"But then who else could it be?" Jefferson inquired becoming increasingly annoyed by the man's smug attitude

"No idea" responded Notepad "but by the size and shape of the hole" he actually said, "hole" not "wound" or "injury." Hole. "It almost looks as if someone put their fist through the back of his head." He finally put the pad in his pocket "know anyone that could do that?"

He did, Jefferson knew many things about Mr. Linderman's "side projects" but did not tell Notepad any of it. that is not how his boss would have wanted things handled.

"Not at all"

"Well I think that's about all there is then, my partners waiting for me downstairs"

"I'll show you out." Jefferson said out of common courtesy. They rode in the elevator surrounded by a thick fog of uncomfortable silence until Notepad broke it.

"You mentioned Sylar earlier today. Why? Are you worried?"

Shocked by the man's statement it took Jefferson a few minutes to find his tongue.

"No," he replied finally "he already has my ability."

"That's good" Notepad said, "I guess."

"What about you?" Jefferson asked, hoping it was not too bold.

"Hopefully mines too useless for him to want." Notepad said coolly "did the guy have any family?" he asked.

"Yes," Jefferson answered "he and his wife separated some time ago but he has a daughter and two grandchildren, I'll be calling them immediately."

Finally the car reached the bottom floor and the door opened but Notepad didn't walk through them immediately. Instead he turned to Jefferson

"May I make a suggestion?" he said

"What is it?" Jefferson replied slightly annoyed.

"Call the police first." He crossed the threshold and into the lobby. Relieved to be rid of the man Jefferson breathed a sigh of relief when the doors started to close. The sigh transformed into a gasp when a hand shot between the two sliding doors and forced them open again. It was Notepad.

"I almost forgot." He said "if you need anything else" He reached into his pocket and for a moment Jefferson thought that he was going to pull out the flask again but instead he pulled out a small piece of paper. "Here's my card." With that he stepped out the doors closed, and he was gone. Jefferson looked at the card on one side it had the Primatech Paper company logo, on the other it simply read "Samuel Walker." Notepad had a name.


	2. Chapter 1

**Volume 1; Discoveries**

Corinthian hotel and casino, room 2025, Las Vegas, NV

"But I just don't get why I have to go." Brett said trying in vain to tie the black silk tie around his neck. He could never quite remember how to do a double Windsor right. On the hotel bed lay his cell phone open and on speaker phone.

"Well he was your grandfather Brett." His friend Liz reminded him from the other line.

"Yeah but I never even met the guy," He replied and after remembering all the stories his mom told him he added, "and I'm a little glad about that."

"Really not once?" she asked surprised and curious

"Well," he said thinking back "he came to one of my birthday parties when I was like seven,"

"What happened?" she inquired

"I don't really know," he said undoing the ninth incorrect knot, "all I remember is that my parents took him inside there was a lot of yelling and then he left."

"Ouch." Was all she said.

"Yeah well the guy was a mob boss remember." Damn ties why did they have to be so confusing, why couldn't you just tie them with just a regular knot, "however that's probably still less creepy than having a clown." She laughed.

"So," she said drawing it out for a few seconds, "what are you wearing right now?" she asked jokingly.

"Funeral clothes." He responded

"You kinda suck at this." She informed him

He laughed, "I know I gotta go but I'll talk to you later."

"Ok," she said "you still coming on Friday?"

"Of course, wouldn't miss it even if another grandpa died."

"Isn't that kinda impossible now?" his grandfather on his dad's side died a few years ago

"Eh you never know I'll see you at school tomorrow." He said.

"Ok later." She said and ended the call leaving Brett alone with his untied tie in a hotel room on the Las Vegas strip. He hated it here maybe it was because of the reason the reason for hi visit, or maybe it was that everything seemed so fake, from the faux marble column to the false hopes of making a fortune in the casino. Whatever it was he couldn't wait to get on that flight back home.

"Hey kiddo," his dad said walking in and tussling his son's hair. Looking at the tie around his son neck he asked, "need some help?"

"Nope I got it," Brett said and finally tied the perfect Double Windsor knot. Slipping on his jacket he said, "ready to go?"

"Just about." His mom said in the doorway putting in a pair of gold earrings.

Brett walked over to her and gave her hug. "How you holding up?" he asked

"Pretty good all things considered." She said finishing with her earrings "I mean the guy was a royal jerk but he was still my father." Recalling his lack of feeling for the situation Brett felt the knife of guilt stab him right in the stomach. And decided to busy his mind with something else. He walked over to the mirror to make sure his suit looked okay. He straitened the lapels and the tie and looked at himself. He wasn't unattractive, but nor would he ever be a model. Medium build about 5'9", average height for 17 year old, his dark blonde hair was parted nicely for the occasion, usually he didn't do anything with his hair aside from washing it in the mornings. He preferred his slightly shaggy Beatles style hair the way it was. His white skin was thanks too his Scandinavian genetics. Two blue-green eyes stared at him from the other side of the mirror.

"You look fine munchkin." His sister said to him feigning annoyance. He hated how his older still called him that despite the fact that he was a good few inches taller than her now. "When does the funeral start?" she asked sitting on the bed.

"In about twenty minutes." His father said "we'd better get down there." Brett and his sister walked out into the hall but their parents stayed back a little "you know you don't have to do this if you don't want to Tara." He said quietly to his wife.

"I'm fine Keith," she replied "I mean the guy has done some horrible things but he still gave me life and besides I am his only child."

"Alright," he said not entirely convinced "but if you want to leave at any point just tell me."

They walked down to the small privet room the funeral was going to be held in, outside was a large picture of an old man, looking very regal with the name "Daniel Linderman" as well as his year of birth and his death. They met up with Brett's grandmother outside, hugged her and said hello.

"You okay Grams?" Brett asked

"Me?" she said "I'm fine." Then quietly she said to her grandson "If you ask me the world's better off without him" as she said this an elderly dark haired women gave Brett's grandmother a glare that would make ice cubes look like charcoals. His grandmother returned with one of the same intensity.

"Who was that?" he asked

"Oh just Angie," she answered and then added slightly darker "we go way back." She then took his sister by the arm and started walking in "so Meagan how's college?"

Brett's father added their names to the guest book and an elderly gentleman led the five of them to seats in the front of the room. On either side of them were a few people around his grandmother's age. They must have been his friends and business partners, Brett decided. The funeral was fairly short with the standard speech from the local priest and eulogies from a few people in their row, including the infamous "Angie"

They then followed the hearse in their car to the cemetery. After the burial a man with dark hair and glasses walked up to them.

"Mrs. Jensen?" he asked her when she said yes he continued, "my name is Richard Jefferson I am the executor of your father's will. There are a few things I'd like to talk to you and your family about."


	3. author's note

I apologize thats its been so long since i last updated. School has been really busy (finals are kicking my ass) but for anyone who likes the story, don't worry, i promise more is on the way. hang tight and ill be adding more chapters very soon

-LLC


	4. Chapter 2

They returned to the hotel and were led to small office on the fourteenth floor. "Now as I'm sure you know you are Mr. Linderman's only living relatives. In his will he specifically stated for his business and all its holdings to be left to his business partner one Mr. Bob Bishop," he paused here, adjusted his glasses and continued, "but he had dictated that his personal estate is too be divided evenly between his ex-wife, Ms. Emily Row, and his daughter, Mrs. Tara Jensen, an approximated value of $112,000,000." Brett's jaw dropped to the floor. His mother was the first to speak

"$112,000,000?" she asked astonished

"Yes," he said adjusting his glasses again "each."

Brett couldn't breathe. It was as if a python was around his throat and all the oxygen in the room had turned to jell-o. His stomach churned, his eyes watered, even his hair itched, every last strand. Around him people were talking but he couldn't hear any of it. He wasn't part of the world any more, the universe moved around him but he remained stationary. He couldn't take it any more, the walls were closing in on him, he had to get out of here. He bolted out of his chair and walked as calmly as possible out the door.

"I'll take care of him." His father said to his wife. He found him on a balcony down the hall leaning over the railing and staring up at the night sky.

"City's beautiful up here," his father said.

"That's a lot of money dad." He said.

"I know." He said wondering at the fear he heard in his son's voice. "We can send your sister to whatever law school she wants when she graduates. We can send you to whatever college you want to go to. We can get a new house…"

"Stop it!" his son snapped turning around "Just stop it."

"What's wrong?" he asked?

"Don't you see, this changes everything. I mean Jesus it's not like we were hard off before. Our live will never be the same."

"Brett I don't know what you want me to say?" He asked trying to make things better.

"Tell me that this is nothing, that the money's not going to change anything. That nothing will be different."

"Oh Brett," he said giving him a hug. "Of course things are going to be different. But different doesn't always mean bad. And I promise this won't change anything about us. We'll always be a family and we'll always be there for you."

"Excuse me sirs but I couldn't help overhearing." Jefferson said walking in "and I think I might be able to show you something that'll make you feel better."

Jefferson led them o a small elevator and pressed the bottom button.

"Mr. Linderman was a man of many passions. He said as the elevator dropped steadily down. "But few people know that one of his greatest passion," the elevator doors opened to reveal a large concrete building, "was automobiles."

Inside the garage were cars of all colors, makes and models. Brett was immediately drawn to a large green hummer, then to an older red mustang.

"He specifically said for he automobiles to be given to his daughter so that she may give them to her children." Jefferson continued. Then Brett saw it, the most beautiful car he had ever seen he walked over to it slowly. The flawless black paint job shone like the night sky. "Ah yes the 1965 corvette convertible, it was one of your grandfathers favorites." Brett looked inside at the well-kept leather interior

"May I?" he asked

"By all means" Jefferson replied

Brett opened he driver side door and looked inside. The car had been very well kept and it was obvious from the added seat-belts that I was meant to be driven. He popped the hood and looked inside

"Mr. Linderman worked on these cars himself." Brett had a hard time imagining that dignified white haired man in coveralls smeared with grease but he didn't say anything. "He made sure they were outfitted with the finest parts money could buy." It was true, the engine looked brand new. "If you'd like, we could have one of them shipped to your house. I will be there a few days after you get back."

Brett's father finally spoke up

"I'm not so sure." He said

"Dad," Brett said "how many seventeen year olds get the opportunity to not only drive, but to own a '65 corvette convertible?"

Seeing his son's improved mood he finally gave in. Jefferson came back holding the key. He dropped it into Brett's hand.

"You're a very lucky man." He said holding out his hand. Brett reached out to shake it. He grabbed Jefferson hand with his…and then it happened.


	5. Chapter 3

For an instant everything turned dark, no light, no sound, nothing. But that changed almost immediately and Brett's world turned into flashes of random pictures and sounds. Emotions flooded him from nowhere. He felt that his head was spinning like a top and in a few minutes would completely screw off and fly out into space. And then as quickly as it started it was finished and he was standing back in the garage. Sweat forming on is brow staring at Jefferson's confused face. Without thinking Brett snatched hand back.

"Sorry," he said realizing his mistake "your hand's really cold." "Oh," Jefferson said seeming to be more embarrassed than he should be, "i'm sorry I've always had poor circulation." Jefferson and his dad were talking about insurance or something but Brett was lost in his own thoughts

_What the hell was that_, he wondered his first thought was that he had had a seizure, as far as Brett knew his family had no history of epilepsy and it didn't have any of the classic symptoms no collapsing or convulsions. Plus, judging from his dad and Jefferson's reaction he hadn't been out for more than a second. Maybe it was just some weird déjà vu thing, he thought, yeah that's it, just some random misfiring of neurons nothing to worry about happens to everyone. He kept telling himself that over and over again and by the time they were boarding the plane back home, he had almost convinced himself it was true.

Jensen Residence, Fremont Ca

He awoke to the sound of his alarm going off, cold sweat dripping off his brow. He had been dreaming, that much he knew for sure, but he couldn't quite remember what it had been about. He was talking to a man, a tall elderly man. There was something somber about their conversation and something frightening too. He could barely remember and he just tried to forget about it. He showered dressed and went downstairs for breakfast.

"Hey Brett," his mom said holding out a plate, "I made waffles." He gratefully took it poured some orange juice and sat at the table. He picked up the glass to take a sip when he noticed something. The newspaper had been placed their earlier this morning on the front page was the story of the murdered casino tycoon Daniel Linderman. Among the details of his death were bits about his suspected mob dealings and how this may have led to his brutal murder and also a picture taken of the crime seen of Linderman dead on the floor, blood pouring out the back of his skull.

_VULTURES! _Brett thought, _the guys not even cold yet and they're already circling over him. _When he was sure his mom wasn't looking he stuffed the newspaper in his back pack, she might have seen the article already but at least he'd made sure she wouldn't have to look at the picture with the back of her dad's skull missing every time she passed the dinner table. Remembering his juice he took a sip. But nothing came out. No citrusy goodness quenching his thirst. He swirled the glass in his hand listening for the tell tale sound of liquid sloshing. Nothing. He looked inside; sure he had poured himself some juice. He couldn't believe his eyes, the juice was frozen solid, He tipped it over and sure enough a solid orange block slid out onto the table. _Impossible_, he thought, _how could the juice just freeze like that? We don't live in goddamn Alaska._ He went to the fridge and checked the carton, nothing seemed abnormal about that so he decided it must have been some strange natural phenomenon, he laughed, those seemed to be happening more and more these days. It disturbed him but he tried to ignore it. He poured himself another glass of juice and went back to his breakfast. He took a sip of orange juice, this time it stayed a liquid and he went on with his usual morning routine. _That juice must have been really frozen,_ he thought walking out the door heading to school, _my hands are still cold._

He met up with his friend Mike by their lockers.

"How was Vegas?" He asked, mike was a half caucasion half Vietnamese boy in the same grade as Brett they had been best friends since freshman year. He had short black hair, a few inches shorter than Brett and looked at him through a pair of dark brown eyes.

"Depressing, weird, tiring," he responded, "I did get a car out of it thought." Brett went on to tell him about the events that transpired, the funeral, the strange woman named "Angie" and the inheritance. He left out the part about the handshake and the flashes.

"Sounds like it was an eventful weekend." Was the only thing he could say.

"You have no idea." Brett replied

"He never does." A voice said behind him. He turned around to see a petit girl, her brown hair and her light skin and brown hair was obviously european, and her hazle eyes met brett's.

"Hey Liz." He replied. She was a year behind him in school but they had been friends for a while.

"So I got Matt's band to play at my party but maybe you could play me a song too." She said

"Absolutely." He said right away. The topic then turned to basic school subjects, mutual friends, classes the usual. The bell rang and they went their separate ways. Mike and Brett headed towards their math class.

"Which instrument did you tell her you played?" he asked smiling

"Guitar." Brett said embarrassed

"GUITAR?" he asked astonished.

"Hey I'm learning." Brett snapped back

"Yeah you can play the first half of Hey There Delilah."

"So?" Brett asked defensively.

"So you started learning it when that song was still popular." Mike said laughing.

They entered the class and the teacher immediately called Brett over. Mr. Norton, how Brett loathed that hunched-backed crotchety old man. And he hated Brett right back.

"You weren't in class Friday." He said with a sadistic knife-like smile on his face.

"I was at my grandfather's funeral." Brett said handing him the note

"Yes I heard about that. Daniel Linderman's funeral if I'm correct it was all over the news."

"And how would you know who my grandparents are?" Brett asked his anger growing steadily. He did not like the way this man was smiling.

"Oh word gets around." He replied simply Brett started to walk towards his desk

"I heard that he was murdered." the old man said calmly.

"Well its kinda hard to shoot yourself in the back of the head now isn't?" If he was trying to get to him through Linderman, his attempts would be futile, Brett felt no more connection to that dead old man than to the lamp in the corner of the room.

"I also heard he was involved in the mob, I wonder how that affected his family?" That was it, now he was talking about Brett's mother and grandmother, if he thought that he would get away with that he was sorely mistaken.

"They turned out better than _some_ people I've run into." Brett retorted enjoying the tomato color Norton's face turned

"Well if you ask me" he began to say.

"I didn't" Brett cut him off and walked over to his desk next to Mike. The man had no right to talk like that. Brett would tell someone about it but it was his word against a teacher's there's no way he could win. Then he noticed something. His hand, it was so cold, as if he stuck it into a pile of snow. He looked down astonished at what he saw. The palm of his hand was covered with tiny ice crystals. _The glass_, he though, i_t was me, I did it!_


End file.
